The whole of space above me is an impossible kaleidoscope of light, color, and pattern that changes with every second. Below, Venus is patterned by complex fractal shapes of light, shadow, and color that move visibly across its cloudy surface and change shape as I watch.
The whole thing is hypnotic, and I feel like I could stare at it for hours, utterly entranced. It’s also a hazard—threat identification in all this is going to be almost impossible, and there’s literally millions of things to worry about running into if we have to perform emergency maneuvers.
We’re flying a tight formation around the ambassador’s shuttle, which is a prettified Marine assault-shuttle covered in the same parade colors as our frames. My flight’s formation has me in front, and the rest of us above and to the flanks of the shuttle. Everyone’s flying with razor precision, and it looks great, like we’re in an airshow back at Jupiter.
That’s basically what this is, a show.
Overall, while everything looks great, I’d hate to have to fight here.
We’re in a totally predictable formation, not maneuvering at all on our path down to Venus—which makes us all targets for any hostile fire. We’re also bunched up close together, so we look nice and fit together in the same image, if anyone wants to take a picture. A real defensive formation would be spread out over at least 100 kilometers in space, and less in atmosphere. Still, space around Venus is so clogged with traffic, we’re lucky to even fit this tight formation through the narrow path we’ve been granted.
Our path takes us from low orbit to the floating city hovering in the Venusian atmosphere below. We’re not going to the usual tourist destination of Aphrodite, but the military and governmental headquarters of Ishtar.
It looks like it’s going to be a quiet flight through some of the most beautiful scenery I’ve ever seen. I don’t expect anyone to take a shot at us. Actually, firing on a diplomatic mission would not only draw all the fire that the Jovian and Venusian fleets had in orbit, it could also start a war—and no one wants that.
The ambassador’s shuttle instantly glows like a second sun, shedding vaporized armor in a cloud of fluorescing gas. Everything happens at once. The shuttle and my flight shed countermeasures dust, activate our jamming, and eject clusters of SPGs set on countermeasures mode. We begin evasive maneuvers and ignore the narrow flight path we’re supposed to follow.
There was no warning, and no attempt to lock onto us with any form of targeting scan—but then, there wouldn’t have been any need. They knew exactly where we would be, and when.
Time slows as my augments activate, and I see the countermeasures dust around us blaze with furious celestial light as it melts and vaporizes under a relentless assault of photons. The fire is pouring in from hundreds of UV beams from almost every direction.
The mirrors. Someone’s banking fire at us from the mirrors.
I let Ishtar know we’re under attack, and we’ll be coming in fast, and order our formation to make for the cloud deck at high speed, evading the whole way.
Now those mirrors have to go. I fire a cluster of missiles at the ones targeting us and the ambassadorial shuttle, and plasma warheads shatter the nearest ones in glittering clouds of flashing crystal.
There are howls of outrage and protest over the radio. Too bad. My only job is to make sure the ambassador gets to Venus alive; everything else is a very, very distant second.
We’re still under constant fire. Now a number of beams are being banked off other mirrors, splitting their beams to hit us all. Laser light rakes across my frame, boiling off the decorative coating, and revealing the reflective anti-laser coating underneath.
Stray shots from enemy fire hit satellites and small automated craft, burning them away. Radio bands are filling with cries of outrage and terror.
We can’t take this forever, and I can’t just destroy all the mirrors around us. There’s no way I can calculate the paths that the lasers will take through the endless mirrors of the Chandelier.
It’s impossible for me, but not for Talon.
He calculates the path the beams must have taken and identifies the likely origin of the shooters. Good enough. While my x-ray lances would likely burn right though the mirrors, I’ve seen that UV lasers reflect just fine.
We coordinate the fire of our UV laser clusters to saturate the area where our attackers are. There’s a brief pause from the enemy, and energy signatures indicate some hits. Then the firing begins again, and we’re maneuvering, trying to make ourselves hard targets while laser fire bounces back and forth through Venusian orbit as we try to hit each other before light-speed delay moves us out of the way of a beam.
Some of the mirrors glow and deform from all the high energy laser fire bouncing back and forth. Ships in near orbit dodge wildly, narrowly missing other obstacles as the orderly flow of near orbit traffic dissolves in the firefight.
This can’t go on; sooner or later, a space station, civilian ship, or an orbital city is going to get hit.
The mirrors shift and move, and the sky ripples and flashes around us.
Now what?
Maybe whoever’s controlling the Chandelier is trying to keep it from being used as a weapon, or maybe they’re trying to move the mirrors edge on so they’re less likely to be targets, or maybe…
A brilliant flash of sunlight on the opposite side of the planet is reflected through the mirrors around us. An expanding cloud of gas, glowing brilliantly in the light over the night side, marks the end of an unidentified ship.
The Chandelier burned out the ships that were shooting at us. Were they protecting us…or eliminating the evidence?
We hit the Venusian atmosphere in a raging torrent of trans-sonic fire. The original idea was to fly in slowly so the shuttle and our frames would still look all shiny and new. Well, that’s over, and now speed is everything. The ambassador’s shuttle is charred and blackened, with strips of ruined armor flying off in the slipstream.
Chitinous Venusian Harpy bio-fighters rise out of the clouds, heading toward us. They say they’re here to escort us, but are they? How do I know? If they fire from this close, the ambassador dies for sure, and the war is likely back on. If I open fire on them, the war is likely back on anyway…
By the time I’ve made up my mind to trust them, they’re already flying formation around us. So they’re safe—I guess—for now, anyway.
Up ahead, Ishtar comes into view.
The city floats over a coastline of vivid blue water and purple jungle. The city itself is made of gleaming white aero-coral, silver spires, and flashing crystalline domes. Unlike our flying cities, the Venusians’ are open to the air, with shining towers, spiraling boulevards, and bubble-shaped floating spheres clustered everywhere, right out in the open.
It must be nice to have a breathable atmosphere on your home.
We decelerate hard, dropping below the sound barrier, and follow directions to our new landing site.
They probably figure another attack might be waiting for us at our old landing site. Still, I wonder if we’re being directed into another ambush.
There’s no choice. Every weapons system on Venus is awake and looking for trouble. Everyone is surprised, angry, and afraid. There’s no telling what will happen if we refuse our flight directions now.
Escorted by the Harpies, we fly into a large landing bay on the side of the floating palatial city.
* * *
Even though the hangar bay is supposed to be secure, we stay in our frames, ready for trouble. I scan the hangar for any possible peril and keep my weapons hot.
Potential danger is everywhere, of course. A squad of massive, dinosaur-like Venusians, as big as a human in heavy power armor, guard the area with heavy plasma repeaters. Crab-like Manticore bio-tanks have their twin particle beam turrets and laser clusters extruded from their chitinous armor, while their compound camera eyes scan the area for trouble. Even the hangar’s technical staff, little fellows who look like a cross between a fox and a spider
monkey, are armed with laser carbines as they hang from the walls or ceiling. The stark white walls of the hangar itself have open hatches with rail guns, laser clusters, and other weapons out and ready to fire.
All this is to protect us…I hope.
The shuttle is a mess. It’s almost a uniform charred black, with whole layers of burnt armor peeling off, revealing a pattern of craters here, and frozen blister bubbles there. Its surviving weapons turrets are out and panning the area, but realistically, it would have a hard time defending itself in its current condition.
The Marines boil out, ready for action. The gold and red parade display of their power armor is gone, and instead they’re running active camouflage and seem to disappear into the white and gray patterns of the hangar when they stop moving. They don’t line up in neat rows like the original plan called for, either. No, they move out and take up positions where they can cover the whole hangar, and those rail carbines are ready to fire at any instant.
The ambassador finally comes out, flanked by two Marines in full power armor. He’s wearing a breastplate over his nice suit, and I can tell he’s sputtering mad, even through the full helmet he’s wearing.
“You!” He points at me, or rather my frame. “You did this! This could ruin everything!”
“You’re welcome, sir.” What else could I say? I couldn’t say, Everyone’s watching us, you idiot. No, I couldn’t say that. Nor could I say, Chew me out in private all you like, sir, but out here in front of potential enemies, we need to appear united. No way I can say that either. So I just sit and take it while Mr. Big Shot continues with his public temper tantrum, making sure everyone knows who the boss is.
If this guy is the best we have as ambassador to Venus, I’m worried.
Finally, the Venusian Guard arrive. These are the show-troops of Venus, and their primary military function is to look pretty. Picked from the noble lines of the Venusian Great Houses, they look almost like Terrans, except taller, and with utterly perfect, sculpted features. Their shining jewel-studded, crystalline armor glows in a spectrum-shattering display of splendor, and each is emblazoned with the dragons, phoenixes, and unicorns of their respective Houses. They’re holding glittering diamond laser-lances, and have jewel-encrusted, ornate crystal swords and gleaming laser pistols at their belts. My sensors reveal that all their weapons are fully charged, so however ridiculous they look, their weapons are deadly and ready to be used. They move with the precision of mechanoids and the grace of dancers as they form up in two perfect lines and stand at attention.
As they salute, our ambassador’s Venusian counterpart emerges.
She’s stunning. Her facial structure must have been modified to find some hypothetical Platonic ideal of beauty. She’s the girl of every man’s dreams, somehow, all at the same time. Her skin is ever so slightly tinted blue—out of respect to us, I think—but everything else seems to…change constantly. Her hair seems to flow on its own in an unseen wind, and shifts and shines in the light, at one moment dark, and another shining with color. Her robes also shimmer and shine through the visible spectrum, sometimes almost transparent, and flowing with their own motion. It’s simply impossible to look anywhere else.
When she gives a hint of a smile, the hangar seems to brighten. “Welcome to Venus, Ambassador,” she greets him with a silvery musical voice. “I hope your stay will be a pleasant one.”
Personally, I hope the ambassador hasn’t fallen under her spell. What do I have to worry about? We’ve clearly sent our best—
Yeah, right.
When the whole retinue leaves the hangar, we finally get out of our frames. The hangar crew takes over and stores our exo-frames in racks that open up from the walls.
That’s odd. The Venusians don’t use exo-frames, yet they have the proper facilities for Cherubim-class exo-frames right here. It might have made sense to have this ready at the original landing site…but to have the facilities here? Was this already planned as a back-up, or was it secretly the original site all along?
Well, our frames may be all scratched up, but our flight armor still looks good in blue and gold, so we should get to the party on time. If they let us, after all this.
I finally get invited to a Venusian party, and I break the Chandelier.
* * *
We escort the ambassador down the glittering corridors of Ishtar.
All the members of my flight are armed, armored, and ready for trouble, especially after what just happened. Our laser carbines are out and ready, along with the defensive laser clusters on our armor. Since we’re the honor guard, we’re still colored up in shiny blue and gold.
The Marines along with us are also ready for trouble, but they’re not bothering with the parade colors. Instead, their armor is flashing through a myriad of colors to match the gleaming walls, shining crystal, and moving artworks on the walls. As per our orders, Master Sergeant Randall Martin is nearby as a guard for the guardian. That Saturnine price on my head is making this whole thing a lot more worrying.
There’s plenty of other Venusians here in the busy crowded hallway. Venusian nobles travel to and fro with their glittering robes and perfectly sculpted features. Other casts are here too: hulking warriors with their scales and in armor, smaller lithe, feline clerks, simian technical staff, and countless others. Picking out a threat in such a wild and varied crowd is essentially impossible—I can barely tell what’s happening in such strange chaos.
The hallway itself is an artistic assault on the senses. Gently curving opalescent walls glow faintly, while shining prismatic designs slowly swirl across them in ever-changing complex patterns. Shimmering prismatic light glows gently from the ceiling and provides illumination as well as sustenance for the living purple carpet-grass on the floor.
Motion-paintings cover some of the walls in panels of color and depth, only allowing the human mind a glimpse of what’s happening, the viewer left to somehow discern what the rest of the painting must mean. It’s a very Venusian idea—never show everything, and make others guess what’s really happening.
Arched floor-to-ceiling windows of prismatic crystal show the perfect view outside. The sky is an achingly bright blue unlike any world I’ve ever seen. Puffy white clouds seem to glow around us, somehow even more inviting than the clouds of home. Below us, Ishtar is currently floating over the deep blue ocean. The nearby coast has perfect, shining beaches that slope up to thick purple jungles and even ice-capped mountains. The Venusians put a lot of effort into their world—and it shows.
I can see the damage to the Chandelier, even from down here. The shapes of the gleaming mirrors and spectral rainbows of the prisms are broken here and there with gaps. I’m hoping that isn’t going to cause too much trouble for us while we’re here.
One of the nobles screams out in pain and fear, and collapses. She’s an elegant noblewoman, and her perfectly coiffed hair falls into wild disarray and changes color as she loses control of it. Her guards instantly surround her as she goes into convulsions, and her cries for help turn into unintelligible sounds no human throat should ever utter.
We immediately form up around the ambassador and move faster down the hallway. Whatever’s going on, we need to be far away from it.
Astonishingly, some of the Venusian nobles in our party are laughing.
“How amateur!” one says. “A simple nanotech virus like that—and out in public! Not only amateur, but positively gauche as well!”
They laugh and comment on the impropriety of the assassination, endlessly amused, while the poor woman dissolves behind us in the hallway, still alive, looking at us with pleading eyes.
“No one’s worried,” I comment, disbelieving—or least wanting to disbelieve what I’m seeing.
“Assassinations are pretty common on Venus, sir—everyone’s used to it here by now,” Sergeant Martin answers. “It’s the leading cause of death among the nobility, since they don’t die of old age anymore.”
I hate this planet.
“Ho
w do you even know all this?” I ask.
“It’s in the files we were ordered to memorize, sir.”
Yeah, of course.
“So, it’s true then; assassination is a major part of their culture. It’s normal for them.” I want to disbelieve it still, even after seeing it with my own eyes.
“Yes, sir…we’ll want to be on our guard.”
I really hate this planet.
“That was a nanotech attack. Nasty stuff.” I wonder how my augmentation defenses would handle something like that. Certainly, the Venusian noblewoman must have had nanotech defenses of her own—and they hadn’t saved her. “What do you think our chances are?”
“Better now than before we got down here, sir,” he answered. “The Chandelier operators helped protect us, we survived the landing, and no one’s tried anything yet, even while we’re isolated.”
“That’s good.” Maybe we’ll make it after all—
“I figure our chances have gone all the way up to one in three, sir.”
I really, really, really hate this planet.
* * * * *
Chapter 7
Unicorn
Dinner is spectacular, and that’s a huge problem. The last thing I need right now is distraction.
The dining hall is huge; there’s room for a squadron of exo-frames as well as their maintenance staff. Maybe the place also doubles as a hangar. There’s room to seat hundreds of people in high style, and it does.
Massive crystalline chandeliers shine down on us, with light scattered into rainbow fragments that recombine with other light sources to create temporary holographic sprites of fantastic creatures— dragons, unicorns, and phoenixes— that appear and disappear in a flash. It’s so distracting that even though I haven’t busted this chandelier, I’m tempted to.
The walls are more of that weird, opalescent, glowing stuff, covered with motion paintings and living sculptures. Yeah…living sculptures. There are small flowering trees with metallic leaves of a thousand colors that slowly move as if dancing to music only they can hear. There are calcified statues of heroic humans or fabulous creatures that move so slowly, only my augments can detect it, and they stare out at the party with a terrible awareness.
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